






„ to* 


THE DUTIES OF MEN OF EDUCATION. 


AN ADDRESS 


DELIVERED BEFORE THE LITERARV SOCIETIES 


OF 


WASHINGTON COLLEGE, 


At the Annual Commencement, Sept. 29TH, 1847. 


z 


BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. 



WASHINGTON, PA: 

PRINTED BY JOHN BAUSMAN, REPORTER 0 lit Cl'.. 

1847. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 


WASHINGTON COLLEGE, - ) 
Sept. 29th, 1847. J 

Joseph R. Chandler, Esq. 

Dear Sir : — The undersigned have the honor to express to 
you, in behalf of the Union and Washington Literary So- 
cieties, their grateful thanks for your eloquent Address, de- 
livered before them this day, and earnestly request a copy for 
publication. 

We hope, sir, that you will add to our obligations, by a com- 
pliance with this request. 

We remain very truly and respectfully, 

Your obedient servants, 

JAMES M. CLARK, 

NORMAN D. FENTON, 
JAMES E. COOKE, 

Committee of Union Literary Society . 
WILLIAM R. WIGGINS, 
ALEX. C. M’CONNELL, 
WILLIAM R. KING, 

Committee of Washington Literary Society. 


WASHINGTON, PA., Sept. 29th, 1847. 
Gentlemen: — I am honored with your requesting a copy of 
my Address, delivered this day. Though I did not intend the 
j paper for publication, yet I do not feel at liberty to refuse a 
j request so kindly and flatteringly conveyed. 

I am, very truly, your obedient servant, 

JOS. R. CHANDLER. 
To Messrs. JAMES M. CLARK, 

NORMAN D. FENTON, 

| JAMES E. COOKE, 

WILLIAM R. WIGGINS, 
ALEX. C. M’CONNELL, 
i WILLIAM R. KING, 

Committee of Literary Societies of Washington College. 



o 




ADDRESS. 


How natural is the enquiry, almost the reproachful enquiry, 
of one called to address an association, moral, political or liter- 
ary, “What shall I say to this people?” 

As I approached the preparation for the duties devolved upon 
me, by accepting your flattering invitation to be the orator of j 
your Societies to-day, I, too, enquired : 66 What shall I say to \ 
this people?” 

Y anity, which is part of the conscience of public men, suggest- j 
cd some of the abundant themes connected with classical history j 
and classical studies. How gratifying would he success, if the j 
effort should be successful, of the attempt to define the exact dif- 
ference between the Attic and the Ionic, in their character and 
effect ; to dwell on the lofty dignity of Thucidides, who used the ; 
latter, and the ever flowing majesty of Herodotus, who em- 
balmed history and his fame in the former. How gratifying to 
institute a comparison between the richness of the Greek, as a j 
language of the whole — a language that expressed the feelings j 
and sentiments of a refined people — a language which became 
as refined as the sentiment of which it was the vehicle ; and the \ 
cold preciseness of the Latin, which being used for the statement j 
of facts, historical and scientific, became almost as exact as the \ 
sciences which it conveyed — almost as stern and unyielding as 
the war spirit, of which it was the record. 

But, at the close of the Collegiate year, with the atmosphere 
of learning yet around you, and all unrefreshed from your la- j 
hors, as you are, it has seemed that some book-worn student j 
might exclaim, as I propounded such a theme, “ne quid nimis ,” j 
and become half weary of the past by the impertinence of the 
present. 

Should I sieze upon the loftiest morals of the Greeks and attempt 
to shew how incomparably below the standard of Christianity ; 
they were, as a code; and how, indeed, the best of them may j 
have been only the uncomprehended spoils which Paganism had 
won from the true worshippers, or the produce of the spiritual I 


a * .. ; 

polen, which had been borne by the winds of Heaven, from the 
cultivated fields of divine truth into the wastes of polished idol- 
atry. Should I attempt this office here , I might be rebuked for 
officious incompetency, by those who arc at once the acceptable j 
dispensers of classical knowledge and the venerated ministers 
of Christian revelation. \ 

! I forbear these, and kindred subjects then, and approach you, j 
| as a citizen of a Commonwealth, interested in all that concerns 
I our common country; and while I do homage to the virtue and 
j attainments of the master minds that have directed this institu- 
| tion, and, through you, have conferred benefits upon the State, 

J I shall seek to be humbly useful by suggesting some of the com- 
i mon practical duties imposed upon you who graduate at an en- 
| dowed College ; duties, however, which give dignity to your at- j 
: tainments, and the discharge of which will become at once a re- 
< ward for your exertion, and a compensation to the State for the 
■; privileges under which your education has been acquired. 

; It is not the smallest part of my pleasure, on this occasion, ; 
■; that my address is most directly to the young, with whom it is 
\ at once the policy and the duty of age to maintain constant sym- 
l patliy; to keep alive those affections which are the blessings of 
| this life and the foretaste of all the good of that which is to come; 

; all else fades and grows dim with age; our strength wastes, our 
\ fancy halts, our passions lull and our appetite cloys ; but the 
- affections of our heart have an immortal youth, they brighten 
| by exercise and are fruitful by cultivation. These are the only 
; possessions common to age and to youth, and to these the strang- 
' er appeals when he would awaken a useful sympathy — upon 
| these he would throw himself, rather than upon the more os ten - 
; sihle equality of education, and ask that the motive and subject 
\ of his remarks may be traced to the depth of his affections for 
j the young, while he appeals to those affections for that forbear- 
\ ance which the didactic tone of his address may render neces- 
\ sary. 

j I address you as gentlemen of independent principles and in- 
dependent means ; men that have taken or are about to take 
places among the citizens of a great Republic ; men now accoun- 
: table only to God and to society. But T also address you as 
| graduates or students of a distingushed College — of an institu- 
| tion that exists not only by the charter which the Commonwealth 
| has bestowed, but, in part, by the means of support with which 
\ it lias been endowed by the Commonwealth, out of funds derived 



directly from the people. Your Aima Mater, the venerable 
source of your education and the object of your reverential af- 
fection, owes her existence and her means of extensive useful- 
ness to the State, which in giving life to the institution became 
its mother, and by the endowments which it has bountifully made 
to sustain its infancy, and ensure its strength for future useful- 
ness, it has guarded, sustained and fed the school ; so that the j 
Commonwealth is indeed the nourishing mother of your Alma 
Mater. Hence, you who gather to the family table, or sit with 
pride and gratitude in the shade of these classic halls, must feel 
that the family pride which as children of this institution you | 
indulge, is, in itself, a proof of obligation towards the power 
which gave existence and efficacy to the school ; and, that as de 
riving learning and mental discipline from Washington College, j 
you have contracted a debt to the Commonwealth of Pennsyl- 
vania ; and as that Commonwealth is the aggregate of individu- 
al authority and individual dignity, you are debtors to the peo- 
ple of the State — “you arc debtors under the law.” 

Yes, I assert it, every matriculation is an entrance to a pro- 
bationary state of dependence : every graduation is a confession ; 
of indebtedness; the diploma which you bear with you to-day is 
an indenture of obligation, with penal provisions to be enforced 
by the court of conscience. And, as one of the people, I lodge 
the claim on behalf of all, leaving the enforcement of the penalty j 
to those who may discover a disposition to avoid the fulfilment ; 
of the implied contract. ( 

One of the first duties of men of learning, is by their own ex- ; 
ertions to dignify labor, and by bringing their attainments to \ 
bear upon the pursuits of their fellow -men, to mitigate their con- j 
dition and to lift into consideration the employment of all. 

Do not mistake the conditions of life and of living men. Do : 
not suppose, that because one country is favored with climate ; 
and another with location, that cither is to be long enjoyed with- \ 
out a full discharge of all the duties which appertain to citizen- \ 
ship — of all the high and constantly pressing duties which be- \ 
long to man, Which his nature imposes, which his wants make ; 
obvious — the neglect of which has brought ruin on decayed and j 
decaying nations. Nay, do not for a moment entertain the athe- \ 
istic thought, that there is chance which has disposed of things | 
as you find them here, and that nothing is required but to enter 
and enjoy. Far from men of learning, far from Christian men, ; 
be such a debasing idea. The land of Palestine, whereto the ; 


prophecies of Seers tended, to which the promises of God sent 
the Hebrews, as by an incontrolable destiny; to which, indeed, 
the finger of Omnipotence guided them, was not more the home 
of the chosen people, by providential direction, than is our own 
country the Heaven bestowed residence of the toiling millions < 
of men — beings whose mental eyes have been touched by the eu- : 
phrasia of human rights ; who indistinctly discover rights and 
: duties and see men “as trees walking.” This is their home; 

this the land promised to those on whom the tyranny of decay - 
\ ing institutions cast their withering shadow — whose life was 
hidden in the darkness of irreformable errors. This is their 
home as yours; the eartli they tread; the soil they cultivate are 
God’s gift to them as to you ; and the form of government and 
: the institutions which it promotes, are as much for their benefit 
: as yours; nay, your benefit depends upon their enjoyment, and 
the permanency of what you value is only secure by the constant 
; approximation of all parts towards equality. When that ap- 
proximation ceases, differences become permanent — conditions 
arc hereditary, motives for improvement cease, distinctions \ 
spring from accidental qualities, genius loses its substantive \ 

| consideration and learning is deprived of its power. You, 
gentlemen of these Societies, whose condition of membership is 
classical attainments, you lose the value of your learning, the 
power of making it useful to yourselves through others, and you 
must feci that the stimulant for devotion to study, would evaporate 
in the atmosphere of fixed institutions, and that the expenditures 
for the acquisition of classical learning, would better be pre- 
served, to save you from that toil and drudgery to which the al- 
tered state of affairs would condemn all that lack wealth. 

If such be the case, you see before you, as men and as patri- 
ots, a use for the learning which you have gathered in these con- 
secrated halls; and you feel that a solemn obligation rests upon 
you to give yourselves to the great work of equalising the con- 
dition of men— of leveling up the path which is to be trodden, 

| and giving all to see, that political equality, if it is, in itself, 

: more than a nominal level at the ballot-box, leads to such a con- 
I dition as to produce a general equality — not an equality or iden- 
: tity of employment, hut of feelings, views and enjoyments, for 
: the present, which will, in time, equalize all pursuits. 

Herein is your vocation — to this is your mission directed. 

Go not to the laborer with the vain, the deceptive, the fatal pro- 
mise, that his toil will ere long cease ; that the sweat of his brow 


shall be dried, and that lie shall cat no more the bread of labor, 
nor sink to sleep from the fatigues of daily pursuits. The earth 
hath seen enough of such reformations. The miserable convul- 
sions which the Utopian dreamers have produced, have disgust- 
ed the laborer with the theory of the learned; and what you 
have acquired and that in which you boast have been despised 
by the practical man, and you have been included in the con- 
tempt. 

Say you to the son of toil, that labor is the condition of life 
— it is the kind only which constitutes the difference with the 
good. Be you prompt to apply to practical use the acquisition 
which these halls ensure. Scorn the belittling idea, and shew 
to others that you scorn it, that the mere possession of classical 
knowledge, is, in itself, an occasion of boast — a ground for spe- 
cial distinction. If the scholar does not apply his knowledge 
to some object of individual advantage, and, by that means, to 
general good, he is a coxcomb, and justifies the estimate in which 
the ignorant have affected to hold the learned. Learning is but 
a means, an implement, either of profitable use, or elevated cn- 
j joyment; in the former application, it is the instrument of the 
laboring man ; in the latter, it may become, and you should strive 
to produce that end, the boon of all. Singly possessed, learn- 
ing inflates and injures ; diffused through all ranks, it elevates 
pursuits, modifies ambition, chastens passions, equalizes enjoy- 
ment and purifies morals. Your duty, as scholars and philan- 
thropists — as patriots and Christians, must then be manifest. — 
Labor — labor — and that labor which conquers all, will improve 
all. 

One great error in the general comparative estimate of clas- 
sical learning, arises from the apprehension, that it has no di- 
| rect application to the great improvements of the age — the ad- 
vancement of practical science — the melioration of the condition 
of the whole — the construction of labor-saving machinery and 
the success of money making plans. 

| Who invents machinery at the suggestion of Homer? What 
has the carpenter to acquire from Demosthenes or Polvbius? — 
; Does the self-sharpening plough turn a neater furrow on account 
; of Triptolemus, or do the million sheep of your own fertile coun- 
ty yield a richer fleece on account of the Bucolics of Yirgil? — 
| These are triumphant questions, that seem to settle in the mind 
> of many the value of classical studies — the pursuits of the in* 
l mates of a College. Who has not heard them propounded by 




| — confused, not convinced — as a virgin would blush and hesi- 
j tatc upon a response to tile libertine who should sneeringly ask ; 
\ the advantages of maiden purity ? 


Before we answer the queries, may we not turn them upon 
the authors? May we not, also, triumphantly demand whether 


man? Are all the lofty energies of the nation, the high aspira- 


thitherward, are these to he confined to the multiplication of 
physical comforts and the production of the means of gratifying 
physical wants ? “ Shall man live by bread alone V 9 Are \ 

there no immortal longings to he gratified by immortal food ? 
Must the shew bread of the altar he mingled with the leven of 
i the secular loaf? Must there he no mountains to purify the air 
that would stagnate in the plain? What estimate of the divine ; 
powers of man has he formed, who turns away from minds J 


touched with the generous enthusiasm of classic literatim 


who sneeringly condemns the gifted and the purified, with the 
sentence, “They toil not neither do they spin.” 


But, I answer, that all these humble secular pursuits of life 
may derive advantages from classical attainments, and that they 


all owe much of their present advancement to men of learning, 
who have made their attainments subservient to the promotion 


of the common arts of man,* and therein, almost for the first time, 


ing. As means of individual comfort and national wealth, all 
: these secular pursuits are to he regarded with fostering care, \ 
and in proportion to their success, will he the amount of individ- \ 

I ual and national independence. But the permanent success of 
these pursuits, is dependent upon the devotion of the laborer as > 
upon the improvement of machinery ; and the mechanical geni- 
us who thinks to promote the prosperity of a community, by im- 
proving spinning-jennies and nail factories, and debasing the ; 

| human mind, by checking its aspirations, might as well com- 
plete his w ork of reformation and elevate in the Federal City, a 
I central machine, that shall do the w ork of the Legislative and 



i 


Executive brandies of our government. No advantage can come 
to a community from any improvement in machinery, 'which 
does not at the same time augment the necessity for skill in hu- 
man agents and increase the amount of responsibility. Produc- 
tion is the end of mechanic skill, however applied, and the praise 
of invention is not that it diminishes the application of genius 
and skill, but that it gives augmented increase to their employ- 
ment; and, as time produces facilities, it is the true policy of the 
age to encourage adherence to respective pursuits; and therein 
is found another essential duty of the learned, 

I assert it here, however, without intending to occupy your 
time with the citation of instances as proof ; but I assert it as a 
fact, which your observation will verify, that the improvements 
of the present age, which are deemed so antagonistic to the se- 
clusion of classic studies ; all those inventions to lighten labor 
and multiply its products, originate in districts where classical 
learning is prevalent and where it is appreciated ; and that most 
of the labor-saving machinery and the thousand improvements 
in the manufacturing and mechanic arts, and the means of do- 
mestic comfort, owe their existence and proximate perfection, 
either to men of classical learning, or to the influence of those 
men upon the artizan’s mind. There should be nothing start- 
ling in all this ; it is the ordinary tendency, though the extra- 
ordinary result, of enlarged theory, approaching the consumma- 
tion of its object. He who despises the pursuit of the student, 
because he docs not perceive its connexion with the productive 
labors of actual life, would condemn all tillage of the earth be- 
cause he could not comprehend the dependence thereupon of the 
harvest produce. 

Be assured, then, that where agriculture is pursued as a sci- 
ence— where manufactures give distinction to society, and where 
the mechanic arts have their greatest developement and most 
favorable effect, there the College has meliorated the public mind 
and Euclid and Virgil have preceded the Mechanic’s Magazine 
and the Agricultural Almanac. 

Men stand and gaze in admiration of the wonderful workings 
of machinery, to which the present century gives use, and while 
it works out all the beautiful results which had been contempla- 
ted in its invention, the astonished witnesses exclaim, that its 
operation seems as if there was mind in the machinery. How 
little do they consider the amount of mind which has been plac- 
ed there. How little do they comprehend that will, foresight, 


is 



design, are at the bottom of the movement, and that neither ac- 
cident nor sudden inspiration has given rise to such a wonder- 
working instrument. Mind is there — intelligence is there — 
study to direct the means to the ends; and, more than that, stu- 
dy to know the thousand failures, and the thousand approxima- 
tions; deep reading to comprehend and apply all the principles 
which the ancients saw and almost applied; learning to seize 
upon the fixed facts of past centuries, and to apply them, with 
the attainments of the present. All that you see so wonderful 
in the progress of the productive arts and manufactures, results 
\ from the preserving power of the arts of the school ; and even 
j with all the influence of printing, that “art preservative of all 
| arts” — only blot out the glories of the past, deprive the young 
\ of the discipline of study and the ennobling qualities derivable 
j from the labors of the ancients, and mind would wither, the arts 
| would decline, and men would outlive the inventions of the pre- 
| sent day, and sink into supineness and perish from very want of 
the vivifying heat and light, that has made glad the secluded 
| student — that has made opulent and powerful the man who ap- 
| plies the amelioration of his mind to the improvement of his con- 
| dition. 

| Men of learning owe it to society, to be examples of lofty mor- 
j als. To what end have they given their time to study? Where- 
i to tends the lessons of Seneca or the Philosophy of Plato, if not 
\ to the purification of morals, by the illumination of mind. The 
object, the glory of learning, is the promotion of happiness, and 
happiness is dependent upon virtue. Happiness, social as well 
as individual, is the result of a fixed principle of right— of right 
established by the concuring testimony and experience of the 
good, and resting upon the unfailing foundation of revealed truth. 

Shall it be said, that the associations of Collegiate life and 
the pursuits of consequent, dependent studies, are not friendly to 
sound morals, that belong to all classes and all conditions? That 
genius, study, deductions from ancient minds, go to augment the 
allurements to vice, and to call away their votaries from the 
simplicity of truth and the path of rectitude ? Why ? Is it be- 
cause the authors whom you admire were unacquainted with 
revelation? Are they the promoters of vice because they are 
narrators of indefensible acts? I think not. There is a defer- 
ence to truth, in the narrative of Pagan writers, and an elevat- 
ed sentiment pervading their reflections, which seem friendly 
to virtue ; and while we gather the rich stores of their thoughts. 


53 ' 


1 i 




as embalmed in the purity of their style and the perfection of 
their language, we feel that we are contemplating “ apples of 
gold in pictures of silver.” 

But it is not merely the beauty of style, the perfection of dia- 
lect, or the purity of detached precepts, that give the ancient 
writers the power of rewarding a careful study of their works. 
Their combined thought, their system of moral faith ; their code 
of Philosophy, often approximate the purity of revealed truth, 
at least in resemblance; and seem the inanimate, but beautiful 
exponent of the purest principles of Judaism and of Christiani- 
| ty — as the Venus de Medici was the representation of the separ- 
ate graces of many living forms. These systems of Philosophy, 

; too, become the means of conveying the vital heat of saving r - 
j ligious truth. They were not, indeed, the central orb of light 
! which was to enlighten the world, about which all systems were 
| to revolve, attracted, illuminated, and warmed; but they seem- 
ed like the heatless illumination, which the great Author spoke 
into existence, in the dawn of creation, the precursor of that orb 
whose formation was the result of divine mechanism, whose of- 
fice was necessary to the support of sentient life. Platonism, 
for example, ministered to the spread of Christianity, and be- 
came the vehicle of revelation, as the cold atmosphere around 
us is the medium of the sunbeams, by which we are enlightened 
and warmed, and which is, itself, mads warm and light by the 
blessed burthen which it bears. 

Morals, then, derivable from studies, must be exhibited by 
the student. If the learning of the schools is connected with 
virtue, it is due to that learning, and to the world, that the scho- 
lar should illustrate its effects. But the healthful tone of pub- 
lic morals, to which I refer, must be fixed by a deeply religious 
sense of high responsibility ; not merely to those who constitute : 
a part of the social circle; not, indeed, to the laws of the land, ; 
that would reach with penal inflictions, established crime ; but 
chiefly a dread sense of responsibility to Him in whose presence 
are all acts performed — to whom all our motives and the thoughts 
of our hearts are constantly patent— not revealed, but open in 
their inception and full in his eye, through all their progress. 

The motives for virtuous action, such as become men of learn- 
ing, must be pure and deep ; and the principles of morality which 
guard the individual or the community, thus influenced, are fix- 
ed, permanent, Constantin their defence ; ornamenting, while 
they guard; having vitality at their roots, which strike deep in 


the sanctified heart. But that negative virtue, which exhibits 
itself by conformity to the licence of the times, and varies with 
the variable customs of the thoughtless and the formal, is no re- 
liable guard for our morals — no certain fixed defence; it ad- 
monishes, and it sometimes wounds; but it becomes feeble by cus- 
tom and pointless by firm opposition. It is like the briar that 
guards the rose upon its native hush, pointed and obvious ; but 
a little opposition destroys its point and makes it harmless, or a 
bold pressure tears it from its position, without injury to the 
branch — scarcely abrading the hark on which it is superficial- 
ly placed. 

The deep, infixed religious sense of accountability, which goes 
to make a principle of good in man, and, through him, to give 
atone to society, becomes a permanent, reliable guard. It is 
like the thorn which protects the fruit of the tropical clime — 
prominent and pointed, and as it springs from the centre and 
not the surface of the branch, it is a part of the object which it 
sustains and defends, and is not to be made useless by delicate 
tampering, nor to be removed from its position, without the vi- 
olence that would rend the branch. 

Men of learning owe to the age in which they live, the en- 
larged exercise of fancy. And never was that obligation more 
imperative than at the present time, when calculation of gain 
seems to have usurped the dominancy of all faculties — when 
the Aonian Mount is to be tunnelled for a Rail Road and Heli- 
con sounded for its Water Power. Never was there a time when 
the chastened fancy of the man of literary attainments could he 
more constantly exercised for the public good ; and in propor- 
tion to the extent of attainments will he the amount of good to 
result from the free use of the fancy. That power, like the wind 
of Heaven, bloweth where it listeth ; and, like that wind, is char- 
acterised by the point whence it issues, and the object over which 
it passes. It braces when it springeth out of the North ; it may 
be the pestiferous breath of the simoon of the desert, or it may 
“come over us from the sweet South stealing and giving odors .’ 9 

Education directs this fancy, curbs its wantonness and gives 
it use. It changes it from the mere voice of echo to the utter- 
ance of the oracle, and elevates it from the dreamy exercises of 
infancy and thoughtlessness to the lofty character of inspiration. 
It mingles thought and reflection with mental impulses, and 
gives root for permanency to the flower that has bloomed only 
in the sunlight. It enables us also to take the useful and clothe 



___ J J 

it in the robe of delight, and thus to throw a charm over the toils 
and anxieties of common life. Labor ceases to be wearisome, 
in the influences of cultivated fancy, which comes like the Wes- 
tern breeze, to give spirit and to brace the sinews to their ap- 
pointed task. Mental exertions arc influenced by this grand re- 
storative and faculties bent to abstract science, catch a pleasant 
tinge from its powers. 

All pursuits, and all faculties, are matured in the blessed in- 
fluences of educated mind and reflect a brilliant, lovely light, 
from a chastened fancy, and arc thus made attractive and doubly 
useful. To you, as men of learning, to you whose minds have 
been elevated by the contemplation of lofty themes, and imbued 
with the riches and loveliness of classic stores; to you is the 
task given — on you devolves the duty to pour on mental and 
physical labor the influences that are concentered in yourselves. 
To you is it given to break the chain, which, while it binds man 
to his daily labor, deafens him to the music of life by its con- 
stant clanking. To you is it given to pour the light of truth in- 
to the darkened cell, whither has withdrawn the worshipper of 
mammon; to pour in upon him that light which shall multiply 
the attractions of his gains, without augmenting their amount. 
Let him learn that the lustre of his hoarded treasures is trebled 
by their currency in the light of day and reason. He is capa^ 
hie of comprehending much. The power of acquisitiveness is 
not that of a deficient mind; it is the unbalanced developement 
that needs some antagonistic motive or impulse to make it use- 
ful. The love of learning is not the sordid worship of wealth, 
and the concentrated heat of Apollo’s shrine melts down the of- 
fering at the altar of Plutus. 

Learned men owe to themselves and to the world, an indul- 
gence and exhibition of true enthusiasm. In a useful character, 
that is the vivifying element; it is that which gives elevation 
and permanency to flight ; which gives dignity by imparting 
earnestness, and secures success by elevating above ordinary 
obstacles. 

Men may be earnest without enthusiasm. They may he anx- 
ious to achieve, without being willing to labor. They love the 
triumph of victory, yet shrink away from the perils of contest. 
You will distinguish between the mere wish for the end and the 
willingness to use the means. The noble energy which devotes 
itself to the perilous project of diverting or abridging the tor- 
rent which intercepts the pathway, and the yielding timidity 
•‘that lets I dare not wait upon I would,” and sits down like the 


& 






'<21 


11 

boy of Horace, on the river’s bank, to wait until the current 
shall have run past. 

A scholar dull ! A scholar cold ! ! A scholar without enthusi- 
asm! ! ! It is a contradiction in terms. Scholastic attainments 
are the pabulum of this right energy. The untaught, the wish- 
ful, may feel their lack and yield to supineness; the first fervor 
of feeling may die away with the conviction of disappointment, 
and there be no inherent or attained power to renew the resolu- 
tion or to promote the effort ; the warfare was undertaken with- 
out munitions for support and defence, and opposition be- 
comes disheartening and repulse defeat. But the man of attain- 
ments — he who has “ into the heaven of heavens presumed, an 
earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,” what has he to do with- 
out opposition! what has he to fear from antagoism! — that is the 
attrition which brightens his artillery and sharpens his missiles. 
The hidden things which have been revealed, have been the fore- 
taste of joys to come; and the efforts which future attainments 
require, are a part of the reward of the brilliant undertaking. 
The indwelling principle makes the mental toil a delight, and 
the pleasures proposed as the end of the labors, is anticipated in 
the means employed. Learning is the result of enthusiasm; no 
man ever attained high profitable knowledge without enthusiasm 
in its pursuits. This is individual knowledge — the learning 
which the scholar acquires; and the same means leads to a dif- 
fusion of the blessing. The enthusiasm of the successful schol- 
ar is contagious and becomes epidemic. The mere attainment 
of classical facts is little. The man who contents himself with 
the simple acquisition of knowledge, from the habit of reading 
or the disrelish of manual labor, adds nothing to the amount of 
general attainment — nothing to the aggregate of valuable learn- 
ing; he is like the closed reservoir, whose stagnant contents 
become feculent and offensive. 

The enthusiastic scholar makes lovely and attractive his fa- 
vorite pursuits. His own attainment is but a part of his suc- 
cess : his zeal begets sympathy and his labors excite emulation ; 
he warms into activity the torpidity of ignorance, and becomes 
to his contemporaries and successors what the mighty intellects 
of other times have been to him. Be lovers of your literary pur- 
suits — open, bold, professed lovers of learning. Let it be the 
theme of your public eulogies — the object of your secret con- 
templation. Feel that you are set apart from others by the con- 
secrating influences of knowledge ; bear about with you the en- 




<FL 





obling consciousness that you are ordained to great ends, and 
that the commission and means of your ministry are found in 
the knowledge by which you arc distinguished. It is by no ac- 
cident that men of learning exist; it is a part of the ordinances 
of God, administered in human institutions, always subservient 
to and consistent with His own good providences, in proportion 
as they promote the happiness of men. You are the elect, the 
appointed, the anointed ones of your kind; then let well-direct- 
ed enthusiasm “make the calling of your election sure,” Let 
that carry you forward to the highest attainment; but, most of 
all, let that lead you to impart. The spirit which is endowed 
with gifts to attain, suggests the duty to bestow. The holy au- 
thority that implanted the spirit of acquisition, and that “gave 
gifts to men,” accompanied the devise with the injunction, “go 
teach all nations.” Let every man of learning accept the mis- 
sion — let every classical scholar feel himself included in the 
command; let him dread, as a deadly sin, the inactivity of liter- 
ary ease, and the coldness of classic indifference. Better is a 
little that is profitable to others, than much that rests unproduc- 
tive in the mind. Better, in the season of irrigation, is “the bro- 
ken cistern that can hold no water,” of all that is carried there- 
to, than the sealed fountain that can give forth none of its con- 
tents. 

The man of learning should be a social man. He owes to so- 
ciety the benefit which his education may confer on social in- 
tercourse. He owes it to himself to enrich his own thoughts by 
employment — to make them, while they are subservient to the 
general purposes of life, profitable to himself by the resources 
which his capital may of right command, and which, w hen em- 
ployed, it unfailingly receives. 

Books, the imaginary sources of all education, are overrated, 
as a means of know ledge. Of all the learning attained by man 
in ordinary circumstances, even in collegiate life, but a small 
part is derived primarily from books. Of all that goes to en- 
rich society, nearly the whole is independent of the press. Con- 
versational talents may, like some others, be natural ; but every 
man becomes social and conversational by practice, and in pro- 
portion to his attainments, in various ways, he may acquire ce- 
lebrity for his instructive social powers, which shall confer last- 
ing benefit on others, while they are being augmented by use. 

Bear constantly in mind the solemn duty resting on men of 
learning, of making their talents and attainments useful tooth- 


i 




I ers; and then think of the slow process of instructing through \ 
| the press. Think of the winnowing out of ideas, in which the 
I chaff itself is full of nourishment and fecundity. Think of the ; 

immense loss of collateral ideas, continually springing up and 
; continually put to rest, and thus lost, because not consistent w ith j 
I the continuity of a formal thesis. Remark the wonderful — the j 
| appaling w r aste of some of Fancy’s most brilliant contributions, j 
j clustering around the central subject, yet to be stripped thence j 
| and left to wither and decay, because they would aggravate the j 
text or diminish the simplicity of the thesis. What flows from 
the pen must be direct and continuous ; it will admit of few ep- 
isodes, and the theme must he always obvious. Collateral sug- j 
; gestions must be struck down, though they should exceed in use- \ 
fulness and beauty the subject of discussion. When the tongue j 
\ instructs, “thoughts warm to thoughts the gifted speaker fol- 
; lows the suggestions rather than the course of his subject, and 
instead of wearying with a dissertation, he touches various j 
themes — awakens some slumbering thought — arouses into ac- 
: tion some motive that had long been inert in the mind of the de- j 
lighted auditor — troubles the stagnant pool and infuses healing 
5 influences. Each listner feels instructed, for each feels called 
| on to carry out the train of thought suggested ; and thus the 
learned man of conversational attainments, seems gifted like the 
j Apostles at the Pentacostal feast, w ith powers to be understood 
by men of all capacities, all kindreds and all tongues. 

I The man of learning who neglects the high duty of cultivat- 
I ing conversational powers, sins against that Providence which 
| endowed him with talents and gave him means for their cultiva- 
| tion. He wastes or withholds the precious seed which might 
produce an abundant harvest of good. Shall he who has con- 
versed with the past — who has held high and profitable com- 
munion with the great of other times — with all the mind that 

made the greatness with which the past is enriched shall he 

who has questioned the soul of distant ages of all its attainments, 
and received responses from their oracles — shall he withhold 
the answer from the awaiting world, or so convey his knowledge 
of the past as to over-reach the present, for the solitary token of 
immortality which a volume Can secure? How much better for 
us to trust to man than to hooks, and receive the rew r ard in the \ 
evidences of good produced and the tokens of gratitude present- 
ed. Much is due to the future, I confess — much that must be 
paid through books. The record of the present must be made,* 



and fall of a single mind may be made as important as those of j 
| an empire $ but neither mind nor empire exists merely for the j 
> historian. They have their separate substantive existence, and j 
it is wiser to make that existence profitable to the present than j 
to sacrifice it to the future. The future, indeed, may derive per- 
manent advantages from the proper uses of the present ; hut he j 


j Silence is, indeed, a sin of omission, hut a waste of language, 

| “the crackling of thorns under a pot,” is disgraceful to learn- 
ing and a heinous crime in the offender. Words, with men of 


j rant, they are infinitely important. You cannot overrate to oth- 
\ ers, nor to yourselves, the vast influence of your words, nor the 
high responsibilities under which you rest to God and man, for 


the present century, in remarking on the effect of disturbing 
causes, curiously and philosophically notices the influence of the j 
j human voice upon the atmosphere. He declares that the pulsa- \ 
tions of the air, once set in motion by the human voice, ceases j 
not to exist with the sounds to which they gave rise. The mo- J 
tions they have impressed on the particles of one portion of our \ 
atmosphere, are communicated to constantly increased numbers; j 
J hut the total quantity of motion, measured in the same direction, j 
j receives no addition. These serial pulses, unseen by the keen- j 
| est eye — -unheard by the acutest ear — unperceived by human \ 
| senses, are yet demonstrated to exist by human reason. And, 
j thus, he declares, that every word man has uttered, is yet im- > 
> pressed on the atmosphere, and may, in time, he developed and 
1 made legible. 


I have no reason to doubt the truth of the assertion — certain- 
ly I am unable to disprove it. It comes from one whose inqui- 
ries are directed towards such objects, and whose character is 
involved in the theories which he advances* Think, then, you 


j that the vocal utterance of your thoughts may be as permanent 
I as if engraved on a rock with a pen of iron. Think that your 
\ words may be chrystalised and stratified for the developement 
| of eternity ; that century after century may take up the impres- 



sions of your speech and pass them onward for the judgment of 
Heaven. 

The press has been considered the preservative power of mind,* 
it may, in this view, be regarded as only the multiplier of words. 
When the press shall have failed and its multitudinous produc- 
tions have been rolled together like a scroll — food for the gen- \ 
eral conflagration — the wave of mind, which your spoken words 
shall have agitated, wiil still roll onward, bearing the symbols 
j of your thoughts ; and beings of another state, perhaps, your- 
\ selves, transported to that new condition, shall find the employ- : 
\ ment of reward or punishment, in developing from the scroll 
j of atmosphere, the words of truth or of error which you may 
j have uttered. And thus, the vast and ambient air may be the 
\ volume of God, wherein are recorded the idle or the truthful 
words, for which man is to answer at the great day of accounts. 
Terrible disclosure ! Fearful anticipation this! The perfec- 
tion of misery, or the means of humble exultation. Alas ! how 
few of us would willingly be tried by what they have done! — 
Who shall stand before the appaling disclosures of the words of 
his mouth ! 

We marvel at the tempest in the clouds above us, and regard 
electricity as an insufficient cause for such a fearful effect. Hut 
if it is understood that man’s language is in the atmosphere a- 
round us, we need no longer be astonished that the heavens are 
wrapt in fire, and that his congregated words shake the firma- 
ment with their antagonism. 

Permit me to refer to one other and more special danger, in 
which the young man of learning is placed. With chivalrous 
spirit, he often undertakes the defence of the weak and the un- 
certain position, and gives the advantage of his youthful vigor 
and untried armor to some insidious error, that seems to need a j 
champion, and to possess the charms which will reward the chi- j 
valry that sets his lance in rest, for its defence. And this pride > 
of display — the warmth of argument — the success of minor at- 
| tempts, too often lead the educated, ardent youth away from the \ 
j cpiiet comforts of religious confidence. This habit of misusing S 
| the artillery of the mind, is so common in the young scholar as 
| to lead many into the error of supposing, that the scepticism of ; 
j the young man of education, insincere as it is, at first, is the na- 
| tural consequence of learning. It is full of danger, however, \ 

| and should be avoided. The habitual use of the ordnance of j 
J scepticism, makes the youth not only a skillful engineer of mis- 



ing in the thick moral darkness, which accident or the sins of oth- 
ers have thrown around him. The sun of truth may never rise g 
to give him a perfect light; hut there is a safety-lamp placed in g 
his way, which pours its beams upon his accommodated vision, j 
and warns him of the mephitic atmosphere which may have been < 
engendered in his path. But, wo, wo and death to the man, who, j 
educated in the truth, turns his hack upon the light of Revela- i 

I tion, and attempts to limit the Almighty by the laws which Om- 
nipotence has prescribed for the meanest of His works ; who j 
argues against a Providence from the very permanency and sal- \ 
utary operation of that Providence on his own circumstances, j 
Wo to him, for he shall startle at the proofs of evil success which j 
he has had with others, and tremble at the shipwreck which his j 
: mad ambition has wrought for his own faith. 

When sorrows visit that man, and the fire of his youth shall \ 
\ sink down into the ashes of age, fie will return to his belief in l 
J religion ; hut he will not have its comforts. His heart will ac- j 
knowledge the existence of a God, and the necessity and truth j 
of Revelation. But the evil spirit of unbelief, which he invoked 
and entertained, will ever haunt him; it will chase him to the \ 
closet and mock his private devotion; it will stand at his elbow j 
at the altar and scatter poison upon the elements of its sacred j 


doctrines present difficulties and are confessedly mysterious. — 


to the young for righteousness ; and instead of attempting, with 
presumptuous thoughts, to scan the dark things of the Most 


Build your morals , as you sustain your faith, upon the Scrip- 
tures of God, and let the Bible be a lamp to your feet — the sure, 
the certain guide of youth. And should adverse circumstances 



mournings at the loss of comforts, temporal and spiritual, which j 
a neglect of the precepts of the sacred volume shall have brought 
upon you, should you inquire, “wherewithal shall a young man j 
| cleanse his ways ?” Even, my friends of the Literary Socie- j 
5 ties, even, “by the good word of that hook.” j 

| I have referred to some, a few only of the duties and ohliga- \ 
| tions of a man of education ; a few only, for every new accident \ 
\ of life suggests some new duties. He meets them in his common j 

I walks ; he finds them in his highest vocation. Everywhere is j 
his service demanded — everywhere is obligation registered. — \ 
The right of the world is a perfect right, and penalties are en- \ 
forced against him who neglects such duties. The untaught > 
have a thousand exemptions, which the educated may never \ 
plead. The ignorant man wraps himself about witli*h sense of ) 
irresponsibility, and is at ease in his scanty possessions. 

The learned man, w ith the dignity of imposed duty, carries | 
with him the terrible sense of accountability for neglect. The < 
uncalled, the unanointed man, who lingers in the pathway, has j 
no penal visitation. But the ihissionary of knowledge — the cho- j 


[ the acquisition of knowledge devolves upon him such onerous 
j duties. His attainments seem not to be for himself, but for oth- \ 
ers ; and as less learning would limit his accountability, may it j 
not be easier, and, consequently, more desirable, to limit the re- j 
sponsibility by narrowing the boundaries of attainments?” — j 
Something like this is the natural enquiry of any man, to whom j 
are propounded the conditions upon which desired objects may \ 
be enjoyed. 

What advantage hath the man of learning? I will not evade S 
j the question, by attempting to shew you how all rights have | 
j their correlative duties ; and how all possessions, in a social \ 
j state, render necessary certain sacrifices. Rather let us believe, 

| that no enjoyment exists, without the discharge of duties which j 
| possession suggests ; and that the uses of attainments, to the 
\ favored possessor, are proportioned to the extent of their exer- \ 
j cise. What advantage hath the professional man — the Lawyer 1 


j that constant admiration, which the unlearned feel and express 
j for their superiors ; an admiration which I need not tell you, is 


envied — and is always felt most in regard to those qualifications 
in which one feels his greatest deficiency. He has his advan- 
tage in that deferential regard, which the learned of his own 
and of other professions manifest towards a superior. He has 
a reward in the accumulation of wealth, by professional efforts. 
Let me be understood just as I speak. He has a reward in the 
accumulation of wealth, by professional efforts. No true repub- 
lican — no man who appreciates the character and spirit of the 
institutions of this country, will feel disposed to postpone the 
claims of talents and services to that of hereditary wealth. — 
While we all indulge some little envy for the man whose condi- 
tion is exempt from the necessities of toil, or anxiety for his pe- 
cuniary means, we cannot fail to acknowledge, that this envy 
is a part of the errors of our education — a decaying remnant of 
that regard for hereditary distinction, which our ancestors 
brought with them from abroad. We change our Heavens 
with wonderful facility, but our minds are slow in relinquishing 
preconceived and cherished opinions. Almost every man is a 
judge in what consists his physical advantage, and lie soon un- 
derstands what is consistent with, and promotive of, that advan- 
tage. But while he promptly avows his attachments to some 
form of government, the habit of submitting his political con- 
cerns to the administration of others, makes him slow to com- 
prehend the influence of minor circumstances upon all that con- 
cerns his chosen form of government, and upon his rights and 
condition as a man. And while he feels, and we all feel, that 
wealth is desirable as a powerful, and, in some cases, a princi- 
pal ingredient in the means of happiness, we must confess, that 
it is the acquisition of wealth that gives it real use in a form of 
government like ours; and especially, is it the acquisition which 
makes the possessor useful to society. Need I say to this audi- 
ence, that the boast — the credit of a Republican is his real use- 
fulness ; and the professional man of learning feels that he can 
maintain the dignity of his calling, while he makes it not less 
promotive of the physical and moral comforts of his fellow-man 
than of his own pecuniary and social advantage. 

What advantage hath the ecclesiastic as a man of learning? 
To him, as to others, whose education becomes a principal means 
of occupation, dignity of position is consequent upon superiori- 
ty of attainments ; and in proportion to the elevation of knowl- 
edge is the distinction which that knowledge imparts. We may 
doubt whether, in the present day, the Minister of God holds 



2 




that distinguished and superior place which other times assign- 
ed him — whether the clerical character has with it the imposing 
attributes which it once enjoyed. And this, perhaps, is in part 
owing to the less general devotion of the profession to deep stu- 
dy — the want of the constant evidence of profound research, 
thorough investigation and lofty attainments. The sacred desk 
has now more learned men than formerly, though the profession 
is less generally learned. Collegiate and special studies are 
of course required, but a new round of services imposed upon 
the modern clergyman, deprives too many of that deep awe 
which a devotion to abstract theology formerly inspired. It is 
for others to consider, not for me to decide, whether the unmit- 
igated labor of the clergyman of the present time — the daily 
exercise of Ins powers — the yielding of his time and talents to 
every institution and every gathering, in his parish, connected 
j with philanthropy and religion, is administering to, rather than 
derogating from, the enlarged and legitimate usefulness of his 
calling, and the consequent advantage to himself professional- 
ly. There arc landmarks to be preserved in the field of labor ; j 
and there is a tillage between seed-time and harvest ; but the 
impatience for results, by the unstudious clergyman, may do 
\ more harm than the apparent negligence of the devotee to ec- 
clesiastical studies. It is the duty of the man of God to plant 
the seeds of religious truth in the minds of all, and, in time, to 
irrigate the shoots with the waters of eloquence; but, it would 
appear unedifying and injurious to his charge, for him to seem 
< to withhold his faith from the promise, that- “God will give the 
increase.” 

| Learning, then, in the clergy, creates a respect for their of- j 
fice. It enables them to teach as well as to warn ; it gives them 
power to throw aside the accumulated debris of ages, and to shew > 
the foundation on which Christianity rests. Its exercise must J 
be admitted — and when permitted, it ensures benefit to the many 
! and to the possessor the high reward of a consciousness of du- 
ties discharged. The learned Clergy declare the council of | 

I Heaven to the congregated assembly. They proclaim the mys- \ 
teries which language scarcely sustains. To them go up the j 
heart-smitten for the application of the balm that heals — of them \ 

■ men enquire, by right, of the holy things hidden in the bright- 
; ness of Revelation. What advantage, then, hath a learned cler- 
gy? Much in the power of doing good — much in the comfort of 
good performed. Much in the healthful tone of public morals 


and social affections; much in the sustained dignity of the rev- 
ered calling ; much every way — ‘‘but, chiefly, because unto them 
are committed the oracles of God.” 

What advantage hath the man of learning ? he whose pro- 
fession it is to impart toothers the knowledge lie has obtained? 
Here wisdom is justified of her children. Here attainments arc 
at once honored and at once rewarded with the highest compen- 
sation that the refined mind can court. Learning, to the other 
professions, is only one instrument by which they pursue their 
calling; to the teacher, whatever his grade, it is all. Every 
portion of his acquirements becomes directly available, and he 
is placed, where not only his equals can see, appreciate and ap- 
plaud his acts, but where the first sound of admiration comes 
up from the awe-stricken student, and the last utterance of gra- 
titude is heard. Day by day does he plant, and day by day does 
he see approximate the consecutive harvest to reward his toil. 
When the waters of the overflowing Nile slowly subside, the 
husbandman follows the receding edge of the narrowing stream, 
and drops the seed into the newly bared earth, so that when, at 
length, the current has fallen into its natural channel, he who 
“went forth to sow” secs, from the waters edge to the upmost 
limit of the flood, every variety of growth, from the sickly green 
of the newly sprung corn, to the ripened yellow that bows its 
richly stored head, as if in invitation of the reaper’s sickle. 

How rich the reward, how glorious the triumph of the eleva- 
ted — the conscientious teacher. Not a voice is uttered in the 
Senate chamber of the nation, that has not been modulated by his 
powers; not a triumph is achieved in science, but the glory is, 
in part, referable to him. Error receives no wound from the 
assaults of truth, but the weapon is drawn from his armory, or 
the arrow is feathered from his wing. He is the consecrated 
priest of knowledge, who “from the rising of the sun to the going 
down of the same,” offers the daily sacrifice — watches over the 
flame and feeds it for the constantly smoking altar. Others may 
bow at the shrine, and present their offering for acceptance, but 
he alone ministers within the veil — he alone serveth at the al- 
tar : Meet it is that he “should live by the altar.” 

Gentlemen of the Literary Societies of Washington College! 
— I have done. With no rash views of instructing have I ad- 
dressed you to-day. You are in the midst of the means and the 
effects of education. The masters of knowledge are around you 
and of you. What, in this great holiday of your institution, has 
such an one as I to do with your appointed toil? I have rather 



sought to bring to the festivity the means of pleasing distrac- 
tion, and pointed out, rather than described, some ef the duties, j 
the dangers, and the honors of men of learning. 

Amid the affluence of Wisdom that surrounds us, in the ven- \ 
crated Faculty of the College — those lofty pyramids of learning S 
— those stately obelisks, that bear record of the past to the fu- j 
turc — I humbly offer the salutation of the breaking string of the j 
Memnonian lyre, to you, the rising power — the young and \ 
active, who are to diffuse vital heat and vital light throughout \ 
our social, our political and our ecclesiastical institutions, — j 
may you fulfil, in the beauty of usefulness, the high destiny to 
which you arc marked, and realize, in manhood and age, youth's \ 
bright ideal of Republican fidelity and Christian truth. 




j 

< 

j 




















LmhMM T ui- UUNUHES 


0 019 837 375 


WASHINGTON COLLEGE, 


Is rapidly rising in public estimation, as its steadily increas- 
ing Classes testify. 

It is believed, that no place West of the Allegheny offers great- 
er facilities for a thorough, practical and safe Education. 

Encouraged hy the very liberal patronage extended to this 
Institution, the Trustees have made large and highly ornamen- 
tal additions to the main College edifice, and have erected a 
Professorship of Municipal Law and a Professorship of Physi- 
ology and Hygyiene. These Chairs are ably filled and very 
valuable results are anticipated from the Lectures of Professors 
Grow and King. The Buildings, Libraries, Apparatus, &c., 
are all on the most respectable footing. 


The Sessions arc five months each — the Vacations arc during 


April and October. Tuition $15 per Session. Good boarding 
can be had in the town and immediate vicinity, at $1,50 to $2, 
00 per week; in Commons, $1,50 — in Clubs, at 50 to 75 cents 
per week. 

Washington, the seat of Washington College, is situated on 
the National Road, near the Western border of Pennsylvania. 
It has a population of about 3, 000* and sustains Churches of all 
the leading denominations. It is easy of access from all direc- 
tions; and, in point of morals, healthfulness and cheapness of 
living and in every respect, no other place is more suitable for 
the purposes of Education. 

More definite information may be obtained, by letters address- 
ed to the Rev. President M’Coxaughy, Rev. Dr. Elliott, 
Allegheny City, or Robert R. Reed, Secretary of the Board, 
at Washington, Pcnira. 

October, 1847. 




